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by DottyDot



Series: drabblefest 2020 [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: Kings do not visit farms, but kings also don’t walk barefoot and bare-chested into the woods with a direwolf at their side to hunt; King Rickon had simply never been ordinary.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Lyanna Mormont/Rickon Stark
Series: drabblefest 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740049
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86
Collections: Jon x Sansa Drabble





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Kings do not visit farms, but kings also don’t walk barefoot and bare-chested into the woods with a direwolf at their side to hunt; King Rickon had simply never been ordinary.  
  
He listened to the will of the Lords, they respected his, a tenuous dance along a taught string, one that Lyanna somehow managed to hold by both ends. He had not taken to the girl when they first met, but she had to him, a slight flush to her cheeks, and a murmured "My Lord." Rickon paid her reaction no mind until he noticed the response of everyone else in the room. Apparently, Lyanna was not known for graciousness, but as Rickon would rather spend time with animals then men, he thought perhaps that made her wiser than the rest.  
  
While it was Jon who guided him, Sansa who coddled him as if he were a babe rather than a man when they reunited, Davos who advised him, it was Lyanna who followed him into the woods at night, unaware of what to expect. She hardly even seemed embarrassed when he stopped to confront her, inadequately dressed, and it only took her a moment to recover, "I'll not be taking off any of my clothing, your grace, but I'd come with you. I've never killed with a direwolf."  
  
It was that moment that Rickon Stark chose his bride. And his bride rode beside him into a humble farmyard, seven years after Sansa disappeared.  
  
Sansa came to the door, an infant in her arms, a child hiding behind her skirts. She had flour on her cheeks, stains on her apron, and still she curtsied as if she wore fine silks and stood in a throng of lords and ladies rather than surrounded by babes with sticky hands and chickens.  
  
Jon rounded the corner singing a song about milking cows, his miniature on his shoulders, but the song was interrupted by a shocked, " _Rickon_."  
  
And then the king who the smallfolk whispered was more wolf than man ran like a boy to the man who'd held his kingdom together --who saw it through the end of all things, who refused to allow it to end-- and Jon held his brother.  
  
The child reached down from his perch to pat the strange man's head.  
  
"I did as you said, I listened to the Lords and won over every last stubborn mule. I've built our alliances and secured promises of peace. I've come to bring you home."

Jon slapped his brother on the back and walked him towards the rough hewn house. Jon, the Targaryen bastard, and Sansa, the farmer’s wife, smiled at each other as married folk do. “How about we welcome you to ours?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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